


Hazel Potter, the Boy Who Lived

by StimmyMage



Series: Hazel Potter and the Magical School of Complications [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: FYI, Gen, Genderbending, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, but later others are genderbent so, it's referring to what the newspaper and people who don't know her say at first, ok in the first chapter idk if it counts because she's trans, the title isn't calling her a boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StimmyMage/pseuds/StimmyMage
Summary: Hazel Potter grew up with her racist, transphobic extended family, but finally gets a chance to be herself when she gets a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.





	1. The Girl Who Needed a Name

"Hey! Let me in already, you twat!" Her cousin Dudley was banging on the bathroom door. Never mind that there was a bathroom downstairs; he had to use the one that she was occupying. Choosing to ignore him and face the consequences later, she continued to stare into the neatly polished mirror that hung against the bland cream wall over the sink. 

The face looking back wasn't right. She saw a scrawny boy, dark-skinned with wildly messy but still short black hair and oddly bright green eyes squinting from behind taped-together glasses. This boy wore jeans and a sweatshirt several sizes too big; hand-me-downs from Dudley she'd been told she was lucky to have. This boy's name was Harry; she didn't know what her name was. She pictured the parents she'd never known giving her this gift of a name, something no one could take away, and her chest felt tight for a moment before she changed the image to her father laughing and telling her that she could have any name she wanted. 

Even just calling herself she in her head felt like a rebellion. The one thing her Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley couldn't take from her were her thoughts, and sometimes this was the only comfort she could muster. 

"Hey!" Dudley was banging on the door again. 

Before she had time to make an excuse, a deeper voice shouted, "Boy!" 

She wished she were bigger, to put Uncle Vernon in his place. But the way she was fed, she never would be, so instead she just took her time opening the door and strolling past Dudley and Uncle Vernon, who both towered and glowered, and down the stairs and walking into her cupboard below them as though she'd chosen it for herself. 

It was not a very large cupboard, but it contained everything she owned: a small mattress covered with one thin blanket and a handful of spiders, some old toy soldiers and dinosaurs that Dudley had discarded years before, and a few scraps of paper with scribbled words on them—"James and Lily Potter," "Car crash," and not much else. She was desperate to know about her real family, but Aunt Petunia hated any questions, and doubly hated anything pertaining to her sister or Lily's "good for nothing husband". Tucked between the mattress and the dusty wall was a coveted bag of candy that Dudley hadn't even noticed was missing. 

Annoyed, she flopped down on her bed and considered how she hated summer. School was never great either, but at least it was somewhere to be that wasn't here. The other kids would never be friends with her even if she wasn't so weird, because they were all too afraid of Dudley, who loved to hate her for no reason that she could tell beyond he was an oaf. 

In the living room, she heard the sound of animated guns and virtual screams; had Dudley even gone in the bathroom or just gone straight to his games once he was done tormenting her? With a sigh, she returned to thinking about names. Problem: she didn't have one. It didn't feel that urgent, since she'd have no one to tell anyway, but it did feel like something she ought to take care of. Just in case something changed drastically in the near future... 

Baking in her windowless cupboard in the late May heat, she drifted off to sleep. And she dreamed, as she often did, of fantastic things. This time it was a flying motorcycle driven by a giant, the houses spread out below in rows of light. It was a happy dream; she felt light and free and like she had no problems at all. Until a green flash lit the world and the clear sky rang with thunder. 

Jolting awake, she realized that the banging wasn't really in her dream. It was coming from the door to her cupboard, and Aunt Petunia's shrill voice accompanied it. "I thought you were already up! I need you to cook the bacon for Dudder's birthday." 

Forcing herself not to groan at the stupid nickname—Dudley only put up with his mother's affections to get what he wanted—she yelled back "I am up!" And grabbed a pair of semi-clean socks from the floor before stumbling bleary-eyes into the hallway. 

"Hurry up! I won't have us be late!" Aunt Petunia was tall and pale and blond, with a long neck and hair curled and lips bright red. 

Forcing herself not to point out that one couldn't really be late to the zoo anyway, she obediently went into the kitchen and started bacon and toast, which was not an easy feat around the piles of brightly-wrapped boxes. It vaguely reminded her of a fairy tale. Wasn't there one about a girl forced by her family to do chores while her brother had everything? She couldn't remember, and wasn't even sure where she'd heard it; she had not been allowed in the room when Aunt Petunia had read bedtime stories to Dudley, and anyway Uncle Vernon had forbidden him from hearing anything too "girly." 

Dudley wandered in just as the toast popped, and pushed two boxes to the floor to sit heavily in his usual chair. "Is breakfast ready yet?" He said in his usual demanding tone. 

She was desperately tempted to snap at him but she liked being out of her cupboard and so just grunted and tossed some toast at him, going back to shifting the bacon. When Dudley had three of everything, she gave some to her aunt and uncle and then one piece of bacon to herself before sitting down in the far corner of the room to eat. 

But she'd hardly taken the first bite of toast when Dudley looked at her with his squinty blue eyes and said "Hey! I need more bacon, and he took the last of it!" 

This was just too much, and she lost her careful control. "This is my only piece, and he's had three already!" 

But Aunt Petunia was squinting at her now too, and Uncle Vernon let out a growl deep in his throat. 

Before anyone else could yell, she did it herself. "Fine! Here!" And threw it down on Dudley's plate, leaving her own plate, toast and all, in the sink before storming out of the room. As she left, she heard Dudley yowl "Only forty presents? But _Mommy_ , that's less than last year! I can't have less presents than last year!" And Aunt Petunia cooing that they would get him several more that afternoon. 

But she'd hardly had time to throw herself angrily onto her mattress when the kitchen phone rang, and she raised her head again curiously in spite of herself. Maybe it was a particularly nasty salesman who would aggravate Uncle Vernon for a while. 

But Aunt Petunia answered, and after listening for several moments she just gave a small gasp of horror and hung up. "Vernon!" She cried in an audible stage whisper, " _Vernon_! That was Mrs. Figg. She broke her leg and can't take him!" 

Dudley yelled "What?" At the top of his lungs and Uncle Vernon growled again, but she sat up, feeling much better suddenly. Mrs. Figg was the old lady she was always left with when the family went out, and she was nice enough, but it was incredibly boring as all there was to do was look through albums of her dozens of former and current cats. 

"Harry!" She scrambled out of the cupboard and back to the kitchen, trying to look like she hadn't been listening. 

"Mrs. Figg can't take you today," said Uncle Vernon, eying her as though she had personally broken Mrs. Figg's leg to get out of it. "Now, boy, what am I gonna do with you?" 

He clearly didn't mean for this question to be answered, but she answered it anyway. "You could leave me here." She could play Dudley's games and watch whatever she wanted on television and have seconds for dinner. 

But he just snorted. "I am not coming home to the house on fire." 

"I won't burn the house down," she grumbled, but no one heard her over the doorbell. 

"Oh, good heavens!" Gasped Aunt Petunia, "It's them!" 

"We'll just have to take him," Uncle Vernon decided, "only way to keep an eye on him." 

A moment later, Dudley reappeared, closely followed by his friend, Piers Perkins, who was tall and too thin and had a face that looked a little like a rat's. They sneered at her, and she knew that they would make today as miserable for her as possible. 

She didn't mind too much, though, as a few minutes later she found herself packed into the car and staring out the window, on the way to the zoo for the first time in her life. Uncle Vernon had pulled her aside before they left and threatened her if she "pulled any funny business," but even that couldn't ruin her mood. 

In an effort to ignore Dudley and Piers, who were both poking her, her mind returned to the topic of names. She'd thought about Harriet, because then she could imagine Harry was a nickname, but she didn't really like it. Too stuffy. She did like the letter H, though. She liked to write it when she wrote her name on school assignments and she liked the soft way it sounded. So there was Holly, Helen, Hera. That last one was a Greek goddess they'd learned about in school last year, but she wasn't a very nice person. It turned out most gods weren't. 

She was once again distracted by Uncle Vernon's loud voice. "Bloody motorcycles, thinking they can do whatever they bloody well want!" 

"I had a dream about a motorcycle!" She suddenly remembered. "It was flying!" 

Uncle Vernon stopped looking at the road to turn around and shout, red faced, "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!" 

"I know they don't," she muttered, "It was only a dream." But she shouldn't have said anything; Uncle Vernon hated it when she mentioned anything that wasn't physically possible, even if it was a dream or a cartoon, and now Dudley and Piers were eying her and laughing. 

An hour later, she was having possibly the best day she could remember. She had a lemon pop, because the nice ice cream lady had asked her what she wanted before Uncle Vernon could shoo her away while he was ordering for Dudley and Piers. And now she was in the cool reptile house, avoiding the boys who would likely come after her once they got bored of the animals. But Piers got jumpy around snakes, so she should be safe in here. She certainly felt safer here. 

Before long, she'd found the biggest snake in the room, a boa constrictor as thick as Uncle Vernon's neck, who was peacefully curled in a corner. 

"It's not fair, huh? To be all locked up?" She felt bad for the snake, trapped as he was. At least she was allowed out of her cupboard to visit the rest of the house. As she watched, he raised his head to be leveled with her eyes. 

"You're from Brazil, right? Do you miss it?" She didn't know why she was talking to a snake, but to her surprise his big tail flicked towards the in front of his cage, which she leaned closer to read. "Ohhh, you've never been to Brazil. I'm sorry." 

She thought she heard a soft chuckle and a whispered voice. "Hey, Amigo. Nooo oooone talksssss to meeee." He flicked his tongue. "They nammmmed meee Ssssam." 

"Hi, Sam." She was talking to a snake. She was definitely crazy, like Uncle Vernon said her dad had been. "I'm...Hazel." At least the name tasted right. 

She thought the snake grinned, but she was startled by a sudden "Hey! Harry's talking to that snake!" And the next thing she knew, she'd been flung to the ground by Dudley's beefy arm. And felt the cold floor scrape her elbows and red hot anger blossom in her stomach. Then everything devolved into chaos, and she heard a vague "Thanksssss, Amiga," as a huge snake slid by her ear. 

Yes, she was definitely going crazy.


	2. The Right Way to Catch Flying Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it reads basically like the book right now, but I promise more will change once I get to Hogwarts

Aunt Petunia fainted at the sight of a snake on the loose, and Dudley screamed and hid behind his father, who turned slightly paler. Later, Dudley would swear it tried to eat him, when Hazel was pretty sure it didn't do more than flick its tail. The zoo director himself had made Aunt Petunia a hot cup of tea, and the ride home was a silent one. 

The second Piers had left with his mother, Uncle Vernon rounded on Hazel. His face was now beat red, and he was so mad he could barely speak. "How—how _dare_ you? Setting a snake loose, giving your aunt such a fright? After all we've done for you, taking you in and giving you a home and food. Is this how you repay our kindness? Thought it would be funny, did you? Well?" 

Hazel thought that the word kindness could never be correctly applied to anything Uncle Vernon did, but she kept her mouth shut for fear of what would happen if she accidentally said that. 

After waiting for several long uncomfortable moments, he gave up on getting an answer and said loudly that she was confined to the cupboard, adding a sneered " _boy_ " at the end. Sometimes she thought that he'd seen her flinch at the word, and used it as much as possible without knowing or caring why it bothered her. 

Hazel stormed into her cupboard but didn't quite dare to slam the door. She settled onto her sad bed and began rearranging the plastic dinosaurs, aware that she was in for a long wait. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

By the time Hazel was allowed out, school was out for the summer. She was so sick of seeing the unfinished walls and the same threadbare blankets and half a dozen belongings, her only interaction Aunt Petunia delivering her meals, that she didn't even mind Dudley's ugly glower. That only lasted about half an hour, and she was soon spending every moment she could out of the house. 

She was glad that school was over, and not terribly concerned that she'd certainly failed. Now her main concern was Dudley and his gang, whose favorite game was to do everything they could to torment her. She didn't have a bike and had no real interest in the public library, so mostly Hazel walked. 

A kid walking around the city in baggy jeans and a loose t-shirt was practically invisible, so no one glanced at or spoke to her, and she could imagine. Hazel spent a lot of time imagining—that everyone else saw her as a girl, and while she was at it her imagination made her pretty like she thought her mother had been and promising like Bella Claire in her class last year, who had all the teachers openly discussing her future career. She also imagined how, while she might never be pretty or smart, life would get a little better next year. She was starting secondary school, and while Dudley was going away to Smeltings, a boys' private school that Uncle Vernon had attended, Hazel would be going to Stonewall High, the local public school. 

As much as Dudley told horror stories about Stonewall, this was perfectly fine with Hazel. For one thing, she wouldn't have to try any harder than usual to be a boy, and for another, Dudley wouldn't be there and she was sure that no bully she met would be worse than him. 

One morning, June 20 Hazel would remember later, she wandered into the kitchen in search of food but found instead a sink full of water and something gray and slimy-looking that gave off a horrid smell. Aunt Petunia, wearing her usual too-floral look, was standing next to it wearing heavy-duty rubber gloves. 

"What's that?" Hazel blurted out before she could help herself. 

Aunt Petunia shot her a look, but answered the question anyway. "Your new school uniform." 

"Is it—er—supposed to look like that?" 

"Like what?" Aunt Petunia demanded, managing to look both genuinely perplexed and like answering the question would have terrible results. "It's not done yet. I'm dying some of Dudley's old things for you, and it will look like everyone else's when I'm finished." 

Hazel doubted this very much, but it wasn't worth arguing. She'd already known she had no hope of anything decent-looking for school, and it wasn't surprising that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn't buy her a real uniform. So she slumped into her chair at the table, and a moments later Uncle Vernon and Dudley entered and also sat, wrinkling their noses. 

Aunt Petunia was just places plates on the table when they heard the mail slot click. 

"Go get the paper, Dudley, Uncle Vernon said without glancing up from his newspaper. 

"Make Harry get it." 

"Harry, get the mail." 

"Make Dudley get it." 

"Dudley, hit him with your stick." Dudley swung with the knotted stick that was part of his Smeltings uniform, and Hazel ducked it to get into the hallway and to the front door. 

The mail consisted of several bills, a postcard from Vernon's sister, three ads, and....a letter addressed to her. It was made of old-fashioned parchment and addressed in fancy green ink: 

Mr. H Potter  
The Cupboard Under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging, Surrey 

There was no return address. Her eyes skipped right over the mister and settled on her name. H. Potter. That was actually right. She relished in the fact that not only had she gotten a letter, but that it didn't list a name that wasn't hers. It was a several moments before she realized what should have been stranger even than a friendless chuld receiving a handwritten letter—it had her cupboard on it. No one knew that she lived in a cupboard except the others in the house. For an instant, she was suspicious. Was it filled with something disgusting? But then again, she thought, Dudley wasn't smart enough for a trick like that. She was about to rip it open when there came a shout from the other end of the hall. 

"Mom! Harry has something!" 

Faster than Hazel thought should have been possible, Aunt Petunia had appeared and snatched the letter away. 

"Hey!" She cried, indignant. "That's mine!" 

"It's just a mistake," Aunt Petunia said, which was almost more believable than Hazel receiving mail, except that her face had gone white and her hands were shaking. "Go to your cupboard." 

"But I didn't do anything!" 

"YOU HEARD HER!" Roared Uncle Vernon from the kitchen doorway, and Hazel retreated grouchily. 

She heard Dudley being banished upstairs over his demands to know what was going on, and then her aunt and uncle speaking loudly but indistinctly. 

Hazel didn't have a clock, but it seemed hours later that the door swung open without even the customary sharp knock and Aunt Petunia appeared to beckon her out. 

She sat down in a kitchen, facing her aunt and uncle. This felt very strange. When she was in trouble, she was yelled at and then punished. Dudley was never in trouble. But from conversations at school she gathered this was a situation in which a more ordinary child might have an important talk with their parents. 

"What did you do with my letter?" She tried, unsuccessfully, to sound contrite. It came out defiant. 

"I destroyed it." Uncle Vernon sounded like he was trying very hard to sound calm and casual, something Hazel had never heard him attempt before. Aunt Petunia was perched anxiously by the sink. "It was accidentally addressed to you, and you needn't worry about it anymore." 

"It was NOT!" Hazel gave up trying to hide her anger. "It had my cupboard on it!" 

Uncle Vernon shifted uncomfortably and Aunt Petunia jumped in. "About that. We think you've outgrown that cupboard, and it's time you moved into Dudley's second bedroom." She said it as though she'd told Hazel that they were giving her some great prize. 

Dudley had two bedrooms—one that he slept in, and another that he kept all his extra stuff in, usually once he tired of or broke it. And as angry as she was about the mysterious letter, Hazel couldn't help but feel a thrill. She'd be sleeping in a real room with a window. 

This was made even better a second later when Dudley fell through the open door, his face revealing shock and horror. "WHAT? I NEED that room! You can't give it to him!" 

In all the commotion, Hazel slipped away to move her few belongings to {HER} new bedroom and contemplate who would send her a letter. 

She spent a sleepless night despite the real bed—why there was a bed in the spare room at all, she didn't know—and the moonlight on her pillow. Who would write to her? And why was the envelope so thick and old-fashioned? Every time she closed her eyes, green ink seemed burned into them. 

The next morning, Uncle Vernon got the mail himself and Hazel caught a glimpse of thick parchment before he disappeared out the door and didn't come back all day. The day after that, he nailed the mail slot shut only for three letters to be slipped through the window when no one was looking. These he burned in the dusty old fireplace, which filled the house with filled the house with a suspicious stuffy smell for the rest of the week. Every day, Uncle Vernon got redder and jumpier, and Aunt Petunia got paler and quieter. Dudley acted like he didn't even notice, but Hazel knew enough to keep to her room most of the time. 

The next day was Sunday, and Uncle Vernon seemed very happy about this. Aunt Petunia made waffles and even Hazel got two. She got the feeling they were trying to bribe her into forgetting about the letters, but that's hard to do when your idea of special is an actual bedroom and enough food. And besides, by now she was desperate to know. Even Dudley had wondered who could want to talk to her so much. 

Uncle Vernon had just taken his first bite of syrup-drenched waffles when a strange rumbling came from the roof. Dudley jumped. A second later, they were all covered in a a plume of ash, which was followed by flying...something. 

It took Hazel a long moment to realize that the flying things were _letters_. While Her Aunt and Uncle cowered, and Dudley scrambled into a corner, Hazel bent down and grabbed one off the growing pile. As soon as he saw this, Uncle Vernon decided his fear of whatever was in these letters was greater than his fear of being smacked in the head with them, and leapt at Hazel with a roar. She was quick, and darted under his arm and down the hall, still clutching the letter. 

Her free left hand had reached for the doorknob, but a big beefy hand grabbed the back of her t-shirt, and another yanked painfully on her unruly hair. Before she knew it, Hazel was lifted entirely off the ground and the letter confiscated. 

Spittle rained onto her face as Uncle Vernon screamed. What the hell did she think she was doing, she was an idiot and insolent and ungrateful...she tuned out after that, but tuned back in when he added. "Enough's enough. We're leaving." 

"Where?" Dudley stood at the end of the hall, looking meeker that Hazel had ever seen him. 

"Away," Uncle Vernon said darkly as he put Hazel back on the ground only to drag her outside and shove her in the backseat of his somewhat nice silver car. "Stay here!" He snapped, wagging a thick finger in her face, "And don't you dare ruin the upholstery." Hazel heard him shouting to Dudley that he had an hour to pack, and then she was alone. 

The next hour passed very slowly. She had nothing to do, and though she considered running away, she also had nowhere to go. It had just started to rain when Uncle Vernon returned, dragging Aunt Petunia, who held a suitcase, and Dudley, who carried a backpack and was pouting. Everyone bundled into the car and they peeled away. 

As they drove down Privet Drive, Hazel looked out the back window. She knew it was impossible, but she couldn't help hoping this would be the last time she'd ever have to see that nondescript white-ish house that had been her prison.


End file.
